The Aviator's Descendant
by hpw2210
Summary: Harry Potter's life is changed by an unexpected visit from a lawyer. A lawyer with knowledge of his great grandfather's identity.
1. Chapter 1

**_Strasbourg Hospital, July 1919_**

Marie Janis' cries of pain mingled with words of encouragement from the midwife and doctor beside her as she lay upon the bed, straining to give birth to her child.

'One last push, Miss Janis! Push Now!' demanded the doctor.

She tried, and pushed in time with her contraction, to be rewarded with even more pain, pain she thought she could not endure. Suddenly, she felt the battle of birth begin to ease, and a baby's - her baby's - cries echoed about the room, replacing her own.

Many minutes later, holding her baby girl to her chest for the first time, the midwife at the table beside the bed had completed filling in all but one section of the birth certificate, and other papers the child would need; the name. Upon prompting, she replied, with a voice tired and cracked from her recent ordeal;

'Audrey. Audrey Janis.'

'Here are your daughter's papers, Miss Janis. Call out if you need anything.'

'I will, but could you tell me... how long before we can travel? As I told you when I came in, I, no, we need still to travel home.'

The midwife considered Marie's question for a moment before replying

'I would estimate a week or two, Miss Janis. More perhaps, depending on where you are traveling.'

Sighing, Marie nodded her head. Taking this as a dismissal, the midwife left the room, which now contained only Marie Janis, and her child, Audrey Janis.

As she held little Audrey, Marie's mind drifted. Her thoughts swung to the topic of her child's father, and if she should, or indeed _how she could_ make contact with him... a certain British aviator, mildly famous as being a fighter pilot 'ace' - Captain James Bigglesworth.

* * *

 _ **Janis Castle, Two Days Later**_

The recently forcibly retired General of the German army, stared in horror at the news contained in his only child's telegraph letter to him. He was aware of just how far his family's status had been knocked down with the signing of that damned armistice last autumn... In a moment, he set his mind to persuading, or even if he had to, to forcing his daughter to give up this bastard child of hers, so that his family could survive. Another blow, such as a scandal the like of which this looked set to be, would finish all that was left of the House of Janis.

With some quick packing, and the usage of several political connections - the General set out into the summer afternoon to board a special diplomatic car, then a train to Strasbourg, hopefully to arrive before his daughter could become too attached to her mistake.

* * *

 _ **Neufchâteau, Late 1945**_

Audrey Janis woke up.

This in itself was not extraordinary, however as she came to full consciousness, Audrey remembered one small detail - one small detail that was actually a rather massive deal. Her name, was now not Audrey Janis, the name that the mother she never knew had given her, before abandoning her at an orphanage in Nancy less that a fortnight after her birth. As of the previous evening, her name was Audrey Evans, wife of Johnathan Evans, the British soldier who had, less than a year before saved her from the clutches of an SS officer who wanted one last crime to add to his tally before the Schutzstaffel had retreated into Germany in order to better resist the Allied advance in the region. Since then, following a whirlwind romance made possible by Johnathan being stationed nearby to assist in achieving order in the region the two had grown closer, and as of a ceremony the previous day, become husband and wife.

* * *

 _ **Cottage in Hampshire, 1975**_

James Bigglesworth, known to friends and enemies alike simply as 'Biggles', sat slumped against the back of an armchair in the living room of Marie Janis' former cottage. Marie's funeral, and wake, had ended several hours ago, and now Biggles was the only person left in the building. The grief he felt at losing Marie again, this time permanently, was indescribable. Having spent nearly half a century of not knowing whether Marie was alive or dead, to have her back in his life for the last decade had been some of his most content years of his life. However, Marie had been not only several years older than himself - and he knew, intellectually at least, that at nearly 76 years old he was now an old man - she had also been aged by the time she spent living behind the iron curtain under house arrest.

Biggles had not been emotionally prepared for her passing, just over a year after the death of his greatest enemy turned friend Erich Von Stalhein. While Von Stalhein's death from cancer had been mildly confusing for him - after all, the men had spent four and a bit decades actively trying to kill or otherwise neutralize each other - Marie's passing had certainly 'knocked him for six' as Bertie would say.

His internal turmoil however, was not entirely due to the sad fact of Marie's death. In fact, most of the immense mix of horror, grief, sadness, and even anger, was due to the letter that he held crumpled in his hand, and the information within it.

Marie had had a daughter... HIS daughter... why had she never told him?

* * *

 _ **Mount Street Flat, Next day**_

'Well blow me down, old chap, that's a bally shocker, if I say so myself!' Exclaimed Bertie Lissie from the opposite side of the room to where Biggles now stood. Whilst the others had not lived in the flat for some years now, Algy, Bertie, and Ginger still tended to come to gather in Biggles' flat for meetings and such, probably out after decades of habit from their Air Police days.

Algy remained silent. Ginger, on the other hand, jumped right to the heart of the question that had occurred to Biggles the previous day:

'So... Do you think you can find her?'

* * *

 _ **Graveyard, December 1987**_

Ginger stood and looked on as the last of his three closest friends was laid to rest. As he watched the coffin of James Bigglesworth disappear into the ground, his thoughts traveled back to the three previous times he had been here, and how time had passed between those tragedies.

Marie Janis had been buried here in 1975.

Seven years later The Honourable Algernon Lacey had had a heart attack whilst hurrying to answer the telephone at four in the morning. That telephone had been ringing to notify him that late the previous evening that Lord Bertrand Lissie had been involved in a horrific car crash, and was barely clinging to life. Bertie had died just two days later, never having regained consciousness.

And now Biggles was dead. Aged 88, time had caught up to him in a way that nothing else had ever quite managed. Some of Biggles' last words to Ginger were still burned into Ginger's memory;

'Find her. Find Audrey Janis. Please.'

* * *

 _ **4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. 10th July 1996**_

'Hello, can I help you?' spoke Petunia Dursley, having just answered the door to a tall man dressed in an expensive looking black suit

'Are you Mrs Petunia Dursley, Nee Evans, daughter of Johnathan and Audrey Evans?' responded the man, his expression remaining neutral

'Yes, what do you want?' Petunia's voice had a slight edge to it, this conversation was already too strange for her liking

'I am Henry King, solicitor, and I represent a client who has commissioned my firm to locate his daughter, Audrey Janis. Though it has taken two decades, we finally discovered records that led us to her. However, as your mother is no longer with us, we have now located your good self.' Here the suited man paused, and Petunia was just about to tell the man to go away and slam the door when he continued... 'It is my duty to inform you that your grandfather left his estate to his daughter, and now it turns out by default, any of her children or descendants. May I come in so we can discuss this more comfortably Mrs Dursley?'

Having read a book about this sort of thing being used to con people out of money before, Petunia was still set on giving this Henry King rather short shrift, and getting shut of what was sure to be some sort of con - after all, her mother had been born in France!

Suddenly, an idea of magnificent, and malevolent, proportions sprang to her mind... _Haha! Try to con me? Well, I'm not buying this... The boy, on the other hand..._

'Mr King, I'm afraid that I do not wish to receive anything from a man who let my mother be left in some French orphanage. This also goes for my son, Dudley. However I cannot in good conscience let such a situation not benefit my nephew, who is himself an orphan with nothing of his parents. If you'll come in, I'll fetch him and you may yet rind the recipient you evidently wish for.' The smile on her face, whilst meant to express honesty and concern and generosity to her nephew, merely showed Henry exactly what the woman was thinking.

 _Well then, Think I'm a conman do you... fine. I'll just give this nephew you evidently don't like, everything._

'It would be my pleasure Mrs Dursley. You do understand that I'll need your request on paper, for record's sake of course, before we continue?'

'Oh yes, Mr King. I've no problem with that... Do come in.'


	2. Chapter 2

_**4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. 10th July 1996**_

'Oh yes, Mr King. I've no problem with that... Do come in.' spoke Petunia, stepping aside to let the man who claimed to be a lawyer into the house.

'Please, follow me Mr King. Do take a seat.' she continued, walking into the dining room, which was currently devoid of occupants.

'Thank you, Mrs Dursley. May I write up your statement here, to make things official?'

'Yes, please do. Would you care for some tea?' at his nod, Petunia disappeared into the kitchen to make tea - the noise of the electric kettle heating soon could be heard by the man left in the dining room.

Henry King placed his briefcase upon the table in front of him as he sat down, and took out a sheet of paper. He proceeded to speedily write up a statement regarding Petunia's stated wish - to have nothing to do with her grandfather's estate - and added that that extended to any offspring of hers also.

Within 5 minutes, Henry was done with his official notation, and Petunia returned with a tea tray. Henry accepted a cup, and then rose from the seat he had been occupying, stepping aside and indicating to it for Petunia to sit.

'Mrs Dursley, please take a seat. All that you need to do to make your wishes official and binding is to read and countersign the document in front of you. Should you wish to clarify any points, I do encourage you to do so.'

With a curt nod Petunia took a seat, and read through the document. After a minute or so, she was happy - happy that this left her scot-free whilst allowing the _boy_ total freedom to fall hook, line, and sinker for this scheme. With a smile, bordering on a smirk, she picked up the pen, and signed the form paper, which was curiously already signed as witnessed by a Mr G. Hebblethwaite.

'Thank you Mrs Dursley. As you indicated your nephew is in the building right now, may I see the boy, so as to arrange everything?' spoke Henry. as Petunia rose from her seat, Henry also detached a back layer off the paper, and handed it to her 'Here is your copy of your statement also.'

'Thanks, Mr King.' The smile on her face was definitely more a smirk now 'I'll go and fetch the boy -Harry.' with that slight slip of the tongue she slipped upstairs to fetch her nephew - a certain Harry Potter.

* * *

As the door of his bedroom was flung open without warning, Harry Potter finished closing the only intact drawer on the tiny desk by the window - having heard his aunt coming upstairs Harry had raced to hide his summer essay for charms, as he knew exactly how any of his relatives would react to seeing it... _rather badly, at least_ , he surmised.

'Boy, there's a solicitor downstairs in the dining room waiting for you. Get down there and don't keep him waiting.' Petunia ordered

'Yes Aunt Petunia.' Harry replied, though the thought _this can't possibly be good... wait! No, surely they'd send Aurors if it's about Cedric!_ 'Aunt Petunia, what is this about?'

'He has come to see us about your great-grandfather's will. I'm sure Mr King won't mind answering your questions himself. Now, get down there, boy!'

Not needing to push his aunt any further temper wise, Harry hurried away downstairs, Petunia following.

* * *

Henry rose from the seat he had once again occupied when a shortish, but wire thin, black haired boy entered the room.  
'Hello, I am Henry King, solicitor. Are you Mrs Dursley's nephew? ' he began, and continued as Petunia entered the room and closed the door. 'Please take a seat, both of you.'

'Hello Mr King, I'm Harry Potter, and yes, I am' responded Harry, relieved that this Mr King at least seemed a decent person. Petunia merely nodded as she also took a seat.

'Good! Now, your Aunt is here to act as your guardian, and as for myself, I am here because my firm has been attempting to find your grandmother for many years now. Originally we were commissioned to connect her father with his daughter, but with your great grandfather's death our job became to find her to pass on his estate.' seeing he had at least kept Harry's attention, for Petunia was staring into space, blatantly ignoring him now, Henry continued.

'Well, when we did eventually find your grandmother, we discovered that she was also, sadly, deceased. Thus, as per your great grandfather's will, his estate shall be split between her children. As the will has still not been read, as per our instructions and I do not have the authority to read the will to you, nor in fact a copy of the will itself - I must ask you firstly, Do you wish to receive your share of this inheritance when the will is read?'

Harry simply nodded, knowing that if he didn't, his aunt and uncle would definitely claim his share as their own if they possibly could.

'Excellent, excellent.' continued Henry 'Now all that is left will be to arrange for the will reading... Our firm unfortunately operates out of Mount Street, in London, and the reading will be done there.' knowing now the kind of woman Petunia Dursley was, Henry now wanted to be out of here as expediently as possible, before she twigged that the estate in question must be of some size to be handled by a London firm. 'Would next Monday, at 11 am suffice?'

Harry looked to his aunt here, not knowing what to do. Seeing this, Petunia spoke to him;

'Yes, you can go. Either that or you'll have jobs to do.'

Knowing the jobs would be probably painful as well as pointless, and having had enough of that sort of pointless work from previous summers had Harry accept immediately.

'Very good Harry. I'll leave a card with both you and your aunt.' Sensing that Petunia was about to -politely- throw him out, Henry gathered his things 'I look forward to our next meeting, it will be good to finally conclude this assignment.' by now all three had risen and were in the entry hall 'Good day Mrs Dursley, Master Potter.' and with that, Henry King was gone from 4 Privet Drive.

As the door closed behind the solicitor, Petunia turned to her nephew;

'You can make your own way to that will reading. I want nothing to do with it - nothing to do with some scoundrel who left my mother at an orphanage as a child... Now get out of my sight!' she practically spat, then walked away to the living room, and picked up the novel she had been reading beforehand, pleased with getting the boy somewhere that couldn't possibly benefit him.

Harry proceeded back to his room in a slight daze, to try to get that essay finished without anyone else in the house finding out.

* * *

 _ **Mount Street. Monday 15th July 1996**_

With a tremendous 'BANG!' the Knight Bus appeared upon the pavement of Mount Street, London, in an area that was suddenly both large enough to fit the purple, triple-decker, magically modified Route-master bus - and suspiciously free from pedestrians and parked cars. At the rear of the bus, a figure disembarked and began to walk away as though triple-decker buses appearing out of nowhere was a completely normal occurrence. With a lurch forwards, and a jarringly loud 'BANG!' the bus was suddenly gone. Gone as well was the large area of empty space that the bus had occupied just a moment ago.

Once the bus had gone, Harry Potter lowered the hood on the jacket he had worn to conceal his identity - he'd given the conductor, who was not Stan Shunpike this time, a false name 'Evan Smith' and spent the rough ride pondering about how easy it was to do so... _Should have done this the first time I used this bus_ Harry concluded. Harry now removed the hoodie, the purpose of which was temporarily over, entirely and put it in the bag he had with him revealing that he was dressed in his school shirt and trousers. Whilst the cut of both was perhaps best suited to the early Victorian age, with his dislike for attention Harry was grateful that the concept of what he was wearing hadn't changed since those times - and to the casual observer there was nothing eccentric or of remark about his attire.

Taking out from his pocket the card that Mr King had given him, he re-read the address printed there:

 _Henry King, Solicitor._

 _Harcourt & Ripley Ltd._

 _Mount Street,_

 _London._

Looking about him Harry saw that he was near to one end of the street, ending in what looked like a park. With this in mind, Harry set off towards the park, to check if Harcourt and Ripley Ltd. were situated down that end of the street.

A few hundred yards later he turned around, and was preparing to walk the other way when a brass plaque overhead a door on the other side of the road caught his attention. Crossing the road, he read the lettering that had not been clear to him before, and saw that it was the name of the firm on the card. The door was singularly unassuming, and yet grand, clearly made of high quality wood. Situated next to the door was a simple bell button. Deciding that since the door was closed, and not knowing whether ten-thirty was too early to arrive that it would be best to ring, Harry pressed the button.

The door was opened by a suited man, tall enough to truly tower over Harry's meager 5'5" height. The man stood in the doorway, and looked at the boy in the old fashioned clothes;

'How can I help you, young sir?'

'I'm here to see Mr King, my name is Harry Potter.' replied Harry, as confidently as he could in the face of such an imposing person.

'Please do come in Master Potter, and take a seat. Mr King will be with you shortly.' said the man, as he stepped aside holding the door for Harry. Once Harry was inside, the man moved from the door and returned to what was clearly the reception desk. Seeing only one other person sat at one end of the waiting area - a man looking in his late 60's with ginger hair almost completely peppered over with grey - Harry sat in one of the waiting chairs in the opposite corner, which turned out to be an extraordinarily comfortable wing-back armchair, to wait.


	3. Chapter 3

**Harcourt & Ripley Ltd Waiting Room, Monday 15th July 1996**

Idly sat in a comfortable wing-back chair in the waiting room of lawyers _Harcourt & Ripley_, Harry let his mind drift. His thoughts roamed through things that may be considered normal for a teenager - wondering what his friends were doing, to eventually things very unusual for an average teen boy... Reflections on the death of his Godfather Sirius Black, and the conflict within the British Magical World driven by Tom Riddle under the namesake of 'Lord Voldemort'.

The thinking about Sirius' death felt like a horrifically large weight upon his shoulders, driven by the thought that if he had not fallen into Voldemort's trap so easily, that his Godfather would still be alive. This sentiment had until a couple of days previously deprived Harry of sleep, and hovered around him like a shadow that only he could see and feel. However, just as suddenly as Sirius had fallen through the Veil, Harry had stumbled upon a new angle to this whole subject;

 _Sirius died because he was being too childish in fighting Bellatrix, more than that , she hadn't even tried to kill him with that curse. It was just luck - that bitch hit him with what looked like a stunner and he tripped through a curtain. He could have just as easily been hit by a lorry - especially likely with his running around on his own as a dog._

The apparent blame having shifted away from him, Harry had finally slept. While grief still washed over him in waves, it did not overwhelm him like it had been doing.

Harry felt this latest wave of grief begin to ease. Finally he was able to take in the significance of the room he was in, and what it could signify for him. He had quickly realised that his aunt had attempted to set him up to waste his time at best - or land him with a dead man's debts at worst. Looking around the well appointed waiting room, and feeling the sheer comfort of the chair he was sat in, Harry began to gather a small sense that maybe his aunt's idea was going to turn out well for him. A thought, originating from a part of his brain he realised might well be his inner Hermione flashed through his head - _it would be totally illogical in these times for lawyers to search for years for the unknown family of a dead man to try to saddle them with debt, and honestly, Harry, scammers wouldn't target a penniless teenager with a scam this intricate now, would they?_


End file.
